Interpreter of maladies

I think I am suffering from Weekend Perceptual Syndrome.  It involves two, and possibly more, alternating delusions: one, that the weekend is an endless vista of time for getting things done, a bag into which any old task can be stuffed (I’m remembering an image in Jane Smiley’s “The Age of Grief” in which the narrator compares a day, before becoming a parent, to a bag into which it was always possible to stuff one more thing–then, after children, a day whisks by and is definitively done.  It’s quite true.  And, by the way, if you haven’t read this perfect novella, you should).

The other delusion is of a paralyzing quantity of work to be done, work that can never be accomplished in the mere 48 hours a weekend offers.

Treatment of Weekend Perceptual Syndrome includes lists, timed chunks of work, and scheduled downtime.  Our friend FLS is heading over here soon with her dog, and we’re going to hang out together for a while.  So here’s what I’m going to get done in the hour or so before she arrives:

  1. 12 min. of writing (first)
  2. wash the dishes
  3. prep a manuscript to mail out (because we’re going to the post office with FLS)

And here’s what I’ve already done:

  1. Gotten an excellent night’s sleep
  2. Showered and dressed
  3. Done a major grocery run

And the Snork Maiden has:

  1. Watched several episodes of The Big Bang Theory (always a weekend goal)
  2. Practiced clarinet
  3. Tidied up the living-room area

So it seems like everything is moving in more or less the right direction, ja?


One response to this post.

  1. An excellent night’s sleep is a MAJOR accomplishment, in my book!


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